I am Infinite
by Dialux
Summary: On the last day before the Final Battle, Remus looks at his past and his present through the photographs he has taken. Canon compliant, angsty, oneshot. Rating for language and feelings


Remus sits in his bedroom.

The curtains are drawn, the baby is asleep, and Tonks is showering at that moment. But there is no peace for the werewolf, no peace at all. For there is a coiling anxiety in his belly- a call-to-arms that his brethren are heeding all over England.

He will not go.

No, he will fight against his kind, because when he was eleven and he was afraid, an old Wizard came to his house and asked him to join his school. He will fight because his first friend's son will fight. He will fight because he has a son and a wife and a family, now, after so _fucking _long, and he wants a better future for them more than anything else.

It is the last night, and Remus knows this, but even so, he rises. His arms are careful and slow, not rushed, because in this last night of anger and pain and stark, stark fear, he is infinite.

He knows this in his bones.

* * *

He takes out the book, a leather-bound book of the life he has led since he was eleven. The book symbolizes everything his life has been- love and regret, loneliness and friendship.

And he slowly opens the book, though he knows it by heart by now, because every time he opens it there is a different spin, a different view, and _goddammit, _he will spend his last night reliving the life he has spent on this Earth.

* * *

The first page is of two boys- both with black hair, but one has it carefully disheveled, and the other's is naturally so. Both wear Gryffindor robes proudly, with the arrogant confidence of Pureblood Lords. They are both smirking, not smiling, and it is obvious that they are planning a prank on some unsuspecting student. Their eyes shown no regrets, none of the shadows he remembers so clearly visible. They stand on the edge of the Black Lake, head leaning in to each other, and in this lighting, they look more like brothers than anything else.

Remus thinks it is funny that here, in his own album, Sirius Black and James Potter feature before Remus himself.

* * *

The next picture is of Lily, Lily alone.

She stands in a corner of the Library, and there is a tall bay window set a flight above, shining down on her. One arm is outstretched, her face relaxed, as if she was asleep.

There are many pictures of a fiery, vibrant Lily, dancing and cursing and laughing from birth to death. But this one is of a different Lily- the one who laughed and played and loved him as if he was her brother. This one is of a Lily who didn't try to defend the whole world, but rather was willing to live in it.

After all, heroes are nothing but lonely humans.

* * *

The pictures fly by now, one after the other- pictures of Flitwick and Slughorn and hundreds of other people that they went to school with.

He pauses on the only page of Minerva McGonagall.

She is standing on the edge of the Black Lake, and Remus, James and Sirius are standing before her, bodies splattered with the green slime that they'd wanted to prank her with. She is glaring down at them, but there is a hint of a smile on the corner of her face.

The second photograph was taken during the last days of the War. It is set in the Great Hall, and she is not standing nor kneeling, but sitting right beside her Lord, Albus Dumbledore. Albus looks weary, his eyes sunken, body fatigued, but Minerva's hand is folded over his own, a delicate warmth that remind Remus that both Minerva and Albus would have been, once upon a time, lovers. The grayish black of the photo emphasizes Minerva's worry over Albus, and Albus's wearied determination to win the war. It is a beautiful, beautiful piece on the immeasurable casualties of the war.

And on the last photograph, Minerva is standing before him. This is the only photo which she knows she's in, and he has not found the courage to tell her the truth. She is in the persona of the stern, unflappable teacher, her bun severe and robes perfectly ironed, but beyond the iron-willed control, there is the pain and loss and harrowing confusion that are all anyone has felt in the days after Albus's death.

* * *

More pages are flipped, and it is less of people now than it is of places, of the smallest bits of beauty he can find in the broken corners of the world.

There are the arching shadows of the spires in France, the cozy warmth of a cottage in Switzerland, a burnt and scarred wooden table in a pub in Germany. There are people, here, too, but they do not know him, and he doesn't know them. They are strangers, there for a moment then gone, and Remus enjoys it that way.

There is a Veela in Nice with a gorgeous body that nearly ensnares him, but when she takes off her cloak, he is mesmerized by the angry, red scars etched on her arms and back. Her defiant expression when she sees his approach falters at his request to take a photograph of her back. She agrees, and the contrast between her light coloring and her dark wood surrounding make the curling scars all the more prominent.

There is a young farmer, taking a short break before going back to plant more seeds in Bern. His tanned, rough hands grasp a delicately filigreed china cup, and his wife stands in the doorway, holding the water jug for him. She is smiling softly, and his head is tilted back, hat hanging almost jauntily, but their poverty and worry is obvious to anyone who sees the peeling walls and thin, haggard horses.

There is a burnt, scarred man in Hamburg who is a veteran of two Muggle World Wars. He is far worse off compared to Mad-Eye, with two fingers missing, a cane for his maimed leg, and, worst of all, his aching, gaping loneliness. Remus's photograph is of the man hunched over a glowing trash-can, desperately trying to warm himself for the night. It is poignant and heart-breaking in its ruthless truthfulness.

* * *

There are pictures of Harry, taken during his third year, and he is not the grim bastard he was in Sirius's home that he is now. No, he is a laughing, smiling teenager with his two best friends.

There are photographs of him on his broom, arms waving as he dips and swirls around his friends, and of his serious, determined face when he _wants _to get the Patronus Charm. Harry doesn't know of Remus's photography, but Hermione and Ron do, and they have accepted to take photographs during the summer before Harry's fifth year.

In one of them, Hermione is grinning at the camera, her bushy hair dancing in the wind around her. She looks young and pretty and vivacious, more alive than in any other photograph he's ever seen.

The only other photo that he has of her where she's alone is taken in the Hogwarts Library. In a pose that is eerily reminiscent of Lily's twenty years ago, Hermione's arms are lifted and head tipped back with a careless ecstasy.

And the last photograph of her is taken with her standing in the middle of the dining room- she doesn't know he took it- with Ron across the room. There is a tension, a malleable _chemistry _there between the two. And Remus is reminded of Lily and James all over again.

It is the only photograph he ever gives to Ronald Weasley.

"For the times when you are fighting," he says quietly, memories and thousand-fold regrets threatening to wash over him, "To remind you that there is a reason to make up."

Ron doesn't answer. He doesn't need to.

* * *

Then there is the only photograph in there that he stole.

It is taken from Sirius's room, right after his death. Tucked away behind never-opened textbooks and rarely used robes, it is hidden from prying eyes. It feels almost like a travesty, like sacrilege to disturb the secrets of a dead man- especially this dead man.

But he does.

It is folded over and rubbed so many times that the sharpness of the colors has faded. It is smooth and rough and everything in between. It is beautiful.

The only photograph ever taken of Sirius's family, it is a specific shot of his cousins. Taken years before their disagreements with their family, Sirius and Andromeda and Regulus and Bellatrix and Narcissa all stand in tentative accord. Sirius is in the middle, all charming glory and elegant Pureblood, little Regulus right next him as a tiny shadow. Bellatrix stands to his left, her black hair and coiffed elegance all Pureblood arrogance and domineering cruelty. Narcissa is right next to her, white blond hair and cut-glass clear eyes glittering with casual disdain- an angelic counterpoint to her sister's devilish handsomeness. And Andromeda is tucked away on Sirius's right, after Regulus, her brown hair and brown eyes neither eye-catching nor stunning.

Remus feels, not for the first time, pity for his mother-in-law.

* * *

As if the Black Family portrait is the key to Slytherin, more and more photographs of Slytherins pop up.

There are photographs from school, photographs that have been given to him, even photographs of the one year in which he taught.

One of them is of Snape, his head bent over one of the textbooks in the library- Remus doesn't like to remember that Snivellus spent many hours in the library with Lily and himself. It pulls up uncomfortable memories of a time best left alone. But in this one, he is alone, with neither Lily nor himself. He is bent over a textbook, and there are ten others in front of him, stacked neatly one over the other. The creamy white of the parchment curls over his hand, and there are barely visible ink splatters over his long fingers. But what really catches his eye is the shadow of a bruise, a bluish-black mar over a prominent cheekbone.

Then there is a photograph given to him- by Albus Dumbledore no less.

It is of a young boy- one who looks strangely like Harry, in fact, with his high cheekbones and pale face and dark, mussed hair. The only difference in this boy is his eyes- a sharp, crystal blue, and his face. Oh, his face lacks Harry's warmth and laughter and young, naïve innocence. No, this face is cold and sharp and angular. It is beautifully tempting, but almost untouchable in its iciness.

There are words, an elegant script written over the back of the yellowing photograph, and Remus has read them over and over again in a vain attempt to understand the boy.

Thomas Marvolo Riddle, it reads, and it is the last photograph ever taken of the boy who would become the world's Darkest Lord.

And finally, there is the photograph of the Slytherin Common Room. It is taken from the shadows, and it is only ever captured because Remus was feeling furiously betrayed at that moment, and he wanted to see for himself what Sirius had sacrificed his friends for.

The then-third year students are the ones closest to him, and they are congregated around Malfoy as if he is the sun and they the planets. He adores their attention, but there is a hint of something else in the photograph- a faint memory of a memory, and Remus reminds himself that Draco Malfoy is not a Severus Snape, and history cannot- _should not – _repeat itself. He would die before that happened.

But wasn't that just what Lily and James did?

* * *

There is a picture of Fred Weasley, sitting right next to his twin, and there is no smile on either face, for George has just lost his ear, and the blood is staining the sofa and his clothes. For the first time, they have seen the price of war, but they are not cowed by this.

No, they are Weasleys. And Weasleys stand tall even when the odds are against them. That is why, mixed in with the fear and the grief and the pain is a grim determination and a willingness to _do or die, _as Remus can remember he was, a lifetime or twenty ago.

As they all were.

* * *

There are photographs of all the Weasleys, their red hair a clarion call saying '_here I am! here I am!' _ and bitterness and regret and pain threaten to overwhelm Remus once more, especially when he sees one of the newest photos he's taken- one of Harry and Ginny sitting at the dinner table together.

It might be James and Lily all over again, except Ginny doesn't carry Lily's innocence but a grim laughter, and Harry is not James but someone who is far stronger and ten times better than him. Only their hands are entwined, and they are separated by the bulk of the table, but their love and hope and young, young determination is woven through that embrace, is a near-tangible presence.

There are even other Weasleys there, but the viewer's attention is drawn to and held by these two figures. There is an almost impossible regret hanging between them- a reminder that war does not consist of their whole lives, as only a young person could have truly believed in.

Remus wants to cry when he sees this. When did Harry grow up? When did Harry fall in love? And when did everyone around him begin to see him as the end to the war?

* * *

The last photograph is not taken by him, but by Tonks's father, Ted. It is not their wedding photograph, but rather taken right before Remus went to Shell Cottage.

Tonks is there, beside him, her wan expression and haggard demeanor telling of her recent pregnancy. Remus is there, too, and he is all tall and lanky and bones, and both are wrapped around Teddy, their son, _his _son, and though the toll of war is engraved on both their faces in permanent lines, Teddy, their sweet, _sweet _son is held by his mother who is embraced by her husband.

Teddy, the one person who held him together and kept him together is there, and now Remus does shed the tears he has held back for so long.

Because now he can understand James's desire to fight Lord Voldemort for his son, to let go of everything and hide inside another's protections, to give his life for a few precious seconds for his wife and son to get away. And Remus closes the book, and tilts his head back, and lets the tears that have blocked his vision finally slip down his face.

He feels the light coolness of his wife's hands on his neck, then the pressure of the book- a weight that will never leave him, he _knows _it with every breath he takes- is relieved as she puts it away.

"Come to bed, Remus. It's been a long night."

He turns away from her, pads to the windows, and looks outside to the stars that Sirius's family names themselves after. They shine brightly down to him, but the one that he is looking for is not there. It is obscured by clouds and a world, and he mourns his dead brother once more.

"Yes, 'Dora. But tomorrow will be a very, very short day."

And he goes to bed, to spend his last night with his first lover.

And in that moment, Remus John Lupin, werewolf and Last of the Marauders, was infinite.

* * *

**Alright, if anyone can tell, I used a lot of Perks of Being a Wallflower quotes throughout this oneshot. This idea came to me when I read Lady Altair's Cauterize fanfic, brilliantly worded and poignant. At first, I toyed with the idea of placing it in my Carina Black story, but in the end I thought it would just work better as a oneshot. If anyone is wondering, this is completely compliant with canon, and it takes place the night before the Final Battle. Basically, Remus is depressed. He loves his son, but he has far too many regrets and too much remorse to let that all go right now. So he goes into the Final Battle knowing he's walking to his death.**

**Dialux**


End file.
